The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
Your eyes, the shade of untrodden grapes
before wine spilled into an ancient, wooden vat.
Your voice held their close, musky scent.
The past stretched before us,
an unmade bed, tangled in memories.
We knew we did not belong to the world
or to each other -
stilled in silence, we tried to stake our claim.
Was it rebellion or spite that made us kneel
in that unending darkness?
We wrapped ourselves in thick textures of bark,
burrowed beneath soiled dreams,
trying to find roots and a reason
to ascend into sunlight.
Through those misted windows,
we heard muted music,
but we could not sing.
Was there ever a moment,
as I poured through your fingers,
that you needed to catch me? I never knew.
Unremembered are those soft cotton sheets
wrapped loosely around my thoughts
as you dressed quietly, to be sure I slept.
You never wanted to awaken me,
and you never really did.